


Obedience

by Sohotthateveryonedied



Series: Obedience [1]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Ever watched Ella Enchanted?, Gen, Hurt Tim Drake, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Jason is a good brother, Mind Control, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, So is Dick, Sort of? - Freeform, Suicide Attempt, Tim Drake-centric, Tim's life sucks, basically 17k words about how Tim's life sucks, he's a hot mess but no one knows it, he's just trying his best, what a surprise, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-30 13:52:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19854544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sohotthateveryonedied/pseuds/Sohotthateveryonedied
Summary: Something isseriouslywrong with Tim—Jason just knows it. Ever since the Mad Hatter incident, Tim has been acting completely different, and the worst part is that no one believes Jason when he tells them so.But when the truth is eventually revealed, the whole family comes to realize that the situation is far worse than anyone could have ever predicted.





	Obedience

**Author's Note:**

> Several months ago I received an ask on Tumblr from someone who was searching for a fic they'd read about Tim getting the obedience curse from Ella Enchanted, but neither I nor anyone else succeeded in tracking the fic down. I couldn't stop thinking about it, though, and after a while I decided to just say "fuck it" and write my own. Honestly the only similarity between that story and this one is the obedience thing, but oh well. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Bruce’s knuckles stung where they gripped the steering wheel.  
  
The cut on the back of his right index finger was the approximate size of Mad Hatter’s front tooth, and Bruce felt an eerie sense of satisfaction at the memory of hearing the crack of the rogue’s jaw against his fist. Hatter deserved far worse than he walked away with, but for now, Bruce was content.  
  
After what he’d done to Tim, Hatter was just lucky Bruce didn’t shatter his jaw in two. God knew he wanted to.  
  
 _“Come on, B,” Red Robin had said hours earlier. “I swear it’s a legitimate lead.”_ _  
__  
__“I don’t care,” Batman had gruffed into the comms. “Robin and I are in the middle of a stakeout. You’ll just have to wait until we finish up to ambush Hatter.”_ _  
__  
__Jervis Tetch had strolled out of police custody three nights prior, and it was on Bruce’s well-packed to-do list to track him down. Ever the over-achiever, Tim had found him in barely any time at all. Now all there was left to do was go and end his self-instated vacation early._ _  
__  
__“But I’m only nine blocks away from the warehouse he’s supposedly hiding out in. If you let me go now, I can have him back in Arkham by midnight.” His voice was only one step above a whine._ _  
__  
__“Absolutely not. You are not taking on a criminal like Mad Hatter alone. It’s too dangerous, and he’s too unpredictable.”_ _  
__  
__“I can handle it,” Red protested._ _  
__  
__“I don’t care what you think you can and can’t handle. You’re not going after him without backup, and that’s final. Batman out.”_  
  
Bruce shouldn’t have been surprised that Tim went after Hatter anyway, completely disregarding orders. He’d switched off his radio and followed the lead himself, all the way to Hatter’s current makeshift abode. And, like Bruce had predicted, he wound up in way over his head.  
  
It had taken roughly two hours for Bruce to realize that Tim hadn’t checked in after patrol, one to track his location, and less than twenty minutes to break into Tetch’s hideout and bust Tim the fuck out of there.  
  
In the time frame between discovering that Tim was missing and speeding like a madman to Hatter’s location, Bruce had fluctuated between several emotions:  
  
Worry about what was being done to Tim at that very moment; anger at Hatter for deigning to kidnap Bruce’s son in the first place; double anger at _Tim_ for not bothering to inform anyone of his misguided one-man quest, which Bruce had already planned a steep lecture about.  
  
It was an immense relief to find Tim still in his uniform and mask, tied to a chair and relatively unharmed. Aside from a black eye, a broken finger, and some general cuts and bruises, Tim was fine. Thankfully.  
  
And, thanks to that lovely fact, Bruce felt no guilt whatsoever about tearing Tim a new one as soon as the car doors closed.  
  
“You shouldn’t have been out there alone tonight. I specifically told you to _wait_ for me, and what did you do? You threw my orders out the window and got yourself captured by a psychopath.”  
  
Tim was in the passenger seat, sitting up straight with his uninjured hand clutching the other in his lap. His eyes stayed fixed on the windshield, watching the streetlights pass by in a glowing blur. “I know.”  
  
He’d been quiet since the kidnapping. Normally the Batmobile would be filled with chatter, but tonight he was withdrawn. Perhaps Tim was more shaken in the wake of the ordeal than he wished to let on.  
  
As far as Bruce knew, Hatter hadn’t hurt him. Not much. According to Tim, he’d had plans to use Tim as leverage against the other bats, but Bruce had entered the equation long before anything so drastic could happen.  
  
So perhaps Tim was simply embarrassed at having to be saved from his lone wolf mission gone awry. Perhaps he’d been trying to prove himself by taking on Hatter alone. Perhaps he was ashamed to have failed.  
  
“You could have been killed.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“If I hadn’t remembered to do a head count after patrol, none of us would have had any idea you were missing. Hatter could have killed you and disposed of the body in minutes, and that would have been it.”  
  
A huff. “I _know.”_  
  
“Honestly, Tim, what were you even hoping to _accomplish_ by—”  
  
 _“Bruce,”_ Tim snapped. “I get it, okay? I screwed up. You can quit it with the third degree.” But despite what he said, the heat to his words was minimal—it didn’t reach his eyes. More tired-sounding than anything.  
  
Bruce tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “You just count yourself lucky I came for you when I did.”  
  
“I do.”  
  
The streetlights made Tim’s half-lidded eyes glow orange. Looking at him, something unsettling swam in Bruce’s gut. Whether it was relief at seeing him safe or residual worry from what could have happened, that was up for debate. But when Tim felt Bruce staring and met his eyes, the doubt drained away.  
  
“You’re sure he didn’t do anything to you?” Bruce triple-checked.  
  
“Already told you he didn’t.”  
  
“It’s _Hatter,_ Tim. It’s never nothing when it comes to him.”  
  
“Well, this time it was. You got there before he could do anything more than rough me up a little and annoy me with some Wonderland references.”  
  
“Stop treating this like a joke.” Tim stiffened and shut his mouth. “This is serious, Tim. You completely disregarded orders and put your life in danger, not to mention everyone _else’s._ What would have happened if Hatter decided to pull your mask off? Or hypnotize you into telling him the identities of every superhero in the Justice League? What you did was irresponsible and dangerous, and you’re lucky I’m not benching you for this.”  
  
Tim was quiet—all traces of humor vanished. “I know. I’ll do better.”  
  
“Will you? Because as far as I can tell, you don’t seem to give a damn about following orders unless they align with your own judgement. That’s not how a partnership works, Tim. You can’t disregard what I say just because you disagree at the time, and you can’t tell me you’ll do better. You need to _be_ better.”  
  
Tim said nothing.  
  
“And you’re staying at the manor tonight,” Bruce added. “I know you said he didn’t do anything, but we have to be sure there’s nothing in your system we missed.”  
  
Bruce expected resistance. A complaint, at the very least. But Tim only shrugged. “Okay.”  
  
The following minutes passed by in silence, the only sound being the Batmobile’s engine grinding away through Gotham’s rain-soaked streets. Tim had gone back to staring out the window, eyes dulled.  
  
The streetlights blurred on.

* * *

  
  
As Tim had predicted, every tox-screen came up negative. Bruce tested for every Hatter-trademarked device he could think of; scanned this way and that for any outside influence. Nothing.  
  
While Bruce ran his scans, Alfred tended to Tim’s injuries. He put Tim’s finger in a splint and bandaged each scrape until Tim was deemed acceptably healed in the old man’s eyes.  
  
And, three hours later, Tim was finally given the go-ahead to retire upstairs for the night. He didn’t protest when Bruce told him to save the mission report for tomorrow and to go to sleep right away. He must have been more exhausted than Bruce previously thought.  
  
Overall, Bruce was comforted by the knowledge that they were lucky that night. Things could have turned out much differently had Bruce not found Tetch’s hideout when he did, and he could rest easy knowing that Tim would be sound asleep under the same roof until morning.  
  
Besides; if Tim ended up showing any strange symptoms that the tests had missed, it was far better that Bruce found out sooner, rather than later. But when nothing seemed out of the ordinary the next day, nor the day after that, Bruce let himself stop waiting for the other shoe to drop. He stopped watching for any signs of tampering, for Tim was perfectly fine. And, as time went on, Bruce nearly forgot about the ordeal with Hatter altogether.  
  
Tim was all right, and that was all that mattered.

* * *

  
  
There was something freaky going on with Tim. Jason was sure of it.  
  
Take the morning after whatever had gone down with Mad Hatter, for example. Jason awoke regretfully early due to _someone’s_ pet turkey gobbling away outside of his room at dawn, and was forced to start his day early as a result.  
  
He shuffled into the kitchen, still scrubbing sleep from his eyes when he found that Tim had apparently beaten him there. The kid was leaning against the counter, fishing a waffle out of the toaster with a fork. A coffee mug steamed beside him.  
  
Jason yawned and scratched his side under his Wonder Woman t-shirt. “Morning, replacement.” Tim grunted. Jason figured that was as good a greeting as he would get, so he continued mid-second-yawn, “‘S Alfred awake yet? I’m starving.”  
  
Tim shrugged.  
  
Jason sighed as he poured himself a cup of coffee from the still-warm pot. “Knew I should have stayed at my own place last night. At least then I would be left with something other than Alfred’s gluten-free oatmeal crap, but _nooo._ According to Bruce’s standards, driving home at three in the morning would have been ‘irresponsible’ and ‘reckless’ and ‘for the love of god, stop walking around with a four-inch gash in your side.’ You know?”  
  
Yeah he was rambling like a sleep-deprived speedster, but who cared? Tim was only half-listening anyway. And, like he said, Jason was too tired and hungry to care.  
  
He opened the fridge with a frown and jerked his head toward Tim’s half-burnt waffle. “Gimme some of that, will you?” He opened a Tupperware container, found it filled with one of Stephanie’s culinary mash-ups, and put it right back. “If I have to resort to eating Damian’s weird fake meat things, I swear I’m gonna—”  
  
He was cut off by the loud clank of metal on marble.  
  
“Here,” Tim said behind him. By the time Jason looked back, Tim was already walking away with his coffee in hand. He’d apparently dropped his fork on the counter, waffle still speared on its tines like a terribly-executed kebab.  
  
Did he just—?  
  
Jason watched Tim’s retreating back, his sleepy brain catching itself up with the unexpected turn of events. Surely Tim had known he was joking, right? Obviously Jason wasn’t about to pilfer the guy’s breakfast like a D-grade schoolyard bully.  
  
After a moment of consideration, Jason shrugged and accounted the gesture to Tim’s brain running solely on caffeine and what was likely two hours of sleep. Whatever. Jason wasn’t about to turn down free food. He picked up the waffle and took a bite.

* * *

  
  
It was a week later when things got even stranger.  
  
Not to say that Tim wasn’t already strange. He’d always been a little off, in Jason’s opinion. A little too reserved, a little too in his own head. That must have been why no one else seemed to notice anything amiss the way Jason did.  
  
Because the thing that was so _off_ —the thing that made Jason’s mind run itself in circles trying to comprehend the shift—was that there was nothing wrong with Tim at all.  
  
The kid was flawless. He never slipped up, never got in trouble, never so much as spoke a word out of turn. It was infuriating. Every time Bruce gave an order, no matter how small or stupid, Tim was ready to comply like an obedient sycophant.  
  
Like last Wednesday:  
  
Damian had been pissed at Tim for knocking over his card tower, and the ensuing argument had escalated like a flame to a piece of tissue paper. (As it usually did when it came to Damian and any other human being on the planet.)  
  
The demon had gone tattling straight to Bruce, and without glancing away from his newspaper, Bruce said, “Tim, be nice to your brother.”  
  
And for some inexplicable reason, that little shit just... _did._  
  
He apologized to Damian without question, and the two hadn’t gotten into a single altercation since. At least not one in which Tim fought back. Hell, he even treated _Jason_ with civility, regardless of how he or their other brothers treated Tim in turn.  
  
And the night after that, Tim had pulled an even more confusing turnaround when Bruce instructed him to stay behind from patrol. “I need you here to run comms,” he’d told him. “Oracle has a prior engagement, so you’ll provide tech support should anything go off the rails.”  
  
Read as: _I don’t need you tonight, so stay here where you’ll be sufficiently out of my way._ Because the old man was an asshole like that.   
  
Yet Tim simply nodded and set down his uniform without a second thought. As though being benched didn’t make his blood boil like it very well should have.  
  
Why didn’t he care? Why did he take every order, every assignment, every insult without a word? Why was Jason able to make Tim run a DNA analysis he didn’t feel like dealing with himself and not be met with a single protest? Why was Tim acting so _wrong?_  
  
It got to the point where Jason started purposely doing things that would have made the old Tim angry, annoyed, _something._ Made fun of his hair. Called him “pretender” until his voice was gone. Took a poster off of Tim’s bedroom wall and tore it in half right in front of him.  
  
(That one might have gone a bit too far, but Jason was getting frustrated, okay? In that moment he’d waited for Tim to get angry and yell and deck him in the face. Instead he frowned, said, “That wasn’t nice,” and went back to his homework.)  
  
It was like Tim was a shadow of himself—one who couldn’t have cared less about anything that happened to him. Empty eyes, absent emotions. It was creepy. Especially because the more annoyed (concerned?) ( _annoyed_ ) Jason grew, Bruce only became prouder of his son’s newfound work ethic.  
  
There Tim was, acting like some altruistic robot, and not one person aside from Jason seemed to care. When Jason mentioned it to Alfred one day during their weekly lunch, Alfred hadn’t been concerned in the slightest.  
  
“Master Tim? Oh, the lad has been just delightful lately. He’s been helping me around the house far more often than he used to.”  
  
Oh, yeah. What a fucking angel. 

* * *

  
  
Jason poked his head into Tim’s room one night, carrying out orders to fetch Tim for dinner. “Timbo, Alfred made some parsley shit and—” He stopped. “What are you doing?”  
  
Tim was sitting on the edge of his bed, hands in his lap while he just...sat there. Sat and stared at the wall as though he were lost in thought to worlds unknown. His hair was only slightly more tousled than usual.  
  
Jason cleared his throat loudly, making Tim jump. He caught sight of Jason in the doorway. “I—Sorry, what?”  
  
Jason stepped further into the room— _so clean now, why was it so clean?_ —thoroughly weirded out. “What were you doing?”  
  
“Nothing,” Tim answered quickly.  
  
“Well, yeah, I can see _that._ ”  
  
Tim swallowed. “I’m...thinking.”  
  
“About what?”  
  
“Nothing. Just...must have zoned out for a minute.”  
  
Something made goosebumps rise on Jason’s skin. He crossed his arms. “You’ve been doing that a lot lately.”  
  
Tim gave a small smile, but it didn’t look right on his face. Like someone had copy/pasted one where it didn’t belong. “Guess I have.”  
  
“Um. Yeah.” Why did Jason have such a bad feeling suddenly? Looking into Tim’s eyes was like dousing his body in ice water, and he couldn’t for the life of him fathom why.  
  
Then he realized that standing there staring at the kid probably wasn’t the most normal investigation method in the world, so he changed tracks. “Anyway, get your ass downstairs for dinner. The demon’s getting antsy.”  
  
Tim stood up before Jason had even finished the sentence. “Thanks for letting me know.” He crossed the room, and Jason moved to the side so that Tim could walk past him. After a second, he changed his mind.  
  
“Tim, hang on.”  
  
Tim stopped. Turned. “Yes?”  
  
Jason chewed his cheek. _Why are you acting like a space alien playing the part of Tim Drake in a terrible play about himself?_  
  
Unfortunately, as it turned out, he was a huge coward. “Maybe...cool it on the thinking for a while. Don’t wanna fry the old noggin.”  
  
Instead of offering a retort— _Guess you’d know a lot about fried noggins since yours has got to be a Filet-O-Jason by now_ —Tim just nodded once before leaving the room.  
  
See? Weird. 

* * *

  
  
_How convenient you decided to drop in on my tea party, little bird._  
  
Tim was a robot.  
  
 _You must have defied Daddy Bats’ orders to be here all by your lonesome, didn’t you?_  
  
Tim was a soldier.  
  
 _We can fix that._  
  
Tim was…  
  
 _What better test subject for my latest invention than a bat?_  
  
Tim didn’t know how much longer he could go on like this.  
  
He was a puppet. But instead of strings holding him down there were thick, steel cables orchestrating his every move. And the puppet master was his own traitor of a mind, succumbing to Tetch’s tech as easily as a fly would to a spoonful of honey.  
  
Whatever Tetch had injected into Tim’s neck had no problem calling the shots, while Tim was merely along for the ride.  
  
 _Let’s give my new toy a test run, shall we?_  
  
Tim was pretty sure it had been weeks since it happened. He couldn’t be sure, for it’s easy to lose track of the days when it doesn’t matter if you’re mentally present or not. For the most part, Tim let himself check out. It only caused him more pain to watch himself obey commands his mind tried to resist.  
  
 _We’ll start with something easy. Blink three times._ _  
__  
__. . ._ _  
__  
__Good._  
  
When Batman had shown up in Hatter’s lab, Tim was relieved. Being the world’s greatest detective, Bruce would see immediately that Tim’s mind had been tampered with and he would fix it. Tim would be saved.  
  
 _Perhaps we should try something more difficult this time._  
  
But, to Tim’s utter shock and confusion, he hadn’t noticed a thing. He believed Tim when he said he was fine, despite the fact that Tim was positive he had never been less fine in his life.  
  
 _Break your own finger._ _  
__  
__. . ._ _  
__  
__Good boy._  
  
Tim had been on the receiving end of mind control plenty of times in the past, and it never ceased to frustrate him. Not being in control of one’s own body was an unbearable sort of torture. Tim wouldn’t wish it on anyone, for what could be worse than being strapped to the back seat while someone else took your body for a joyride?  
  
As it turned out, this was far worse than Tim could have ever imagined.  
  
With each new command, Tim heard a dull _click_ in the back of his head. And he was helpless to do anything but watch as his body completed whatever new task he had been given.  
  
His mouth formed words than weren’t his own. His face mimicked emotions he couldn’t feel, for nothing could overcome the terror and frustration and _torture_ of being forced to obey. Of being forced to act like everything was just peachy, because that was yet another order Hatter had given him.  
  
And who was Tim to disobey an order?  
  
Whatever the device was that had caused this whole mess, it must have been impossibly small. That was the only logical reason Tim could conjure for why Bruce hadn’t discovered it while he was running tests to make sure Tim wasn’t under the influence of any of Hatter’s psychotic creations. Ha.  
  
Even now, Tim could still feel Hatter’s breath on his face. See his sickening smile as he watched Tim seamlessly obey every command given to him—Tim himself growing more and more horrified as his limbs moved without him telling them to.  
  
Internally, Tim was screaming. But on the outside? He was a blank slate. Complacent and impartial and loyal beyond all reason. Nothing more than Hatter’s puppet, ready to do his bidding.  
  
“There,” Mad Hatter had said, gleeful after spouting command after command to test Tim’s obedience. It was impeccable, despite his invisible struggle against threadbare bonds. “That’s more like it.”  
  
What plans he’d had in place for his new toy, Tim didn’t know. Use Tim against the others? Turn him into his own personal henchman as a giant _fuck you_ to the Batman? Or maybe he would have tossed him aside, for Tim was clearly only a convenient test subject in preparation for a far larger event.  
  
Whatever Hatter had been planning, it became irrelevant the instant Batman arrived. They saw it all on the multitude of computer screens, which showed images from each security camera in the warehouse. Hope had surged in Tim’s chest, only to shrivel and die when Hatter gave him a new set of orders.  
  
“Change of plans, birdie,” he’d hissed into Tim’s ear. “You are not to tell a soul the truth about what happened tonight, got it? You will act natural. You will pretend nothing is wrong until I return from my shackled sabbatical and find a new use for you.” Tim could practically _hear_ his twisted grin. “It’ll be our little secret.”  
  
It hurt to know that he was right.  
  
At the time, Tim had been terrified. Terrified and stuck and _hurt_ when Bruce hadn’t seen that Tim was acting any differently after he rescued him. No, he was too busy lecturing Tim on the importance of following orders.   
  
If that wasn’t the most ironic thing in the universe, Tim didn’t know what was.  
  
After a while, it became alarmingly clear that Bruce still hadn’t noticed a thing, and neither had anyone else. When Alfred asked for help with the dishes; when Cass wanted to borrow Tim’s leggings; when Duke needed someone to take a video of him doing a back flip for his blog.  
  
Like Hatter said, the truth about that night would remain a secret. For Tim was powerless to do anything but keep his mouth shut like the good soldier he was.  
  
He could try and resist all he wanted, of course. He could struggle to keep his body from betraying him at every turn, but he might as well have been a flea fighting a rock. His struggle meant nothing.  
  
Especially when the longer it took him to complete an action, the more a throbbing, aching sort of agony pressed against the sides of his skull until his vision would go spotty and he would inevitably be forced to obey, if only to escape the pain that resistance inflicted on him.  
  
Besides. Who was he fooling, anyway? There was no escaping this.  
  
As time went on, Tim’s windows of hesitation grew shorter and shorter, until eventually he stopped resisting altogether. What was the point? He wasn’t strong enough to fight it, and he was tired of trying.  
  
How can you possibly hope to win a fight when the person you’re fighting is yourself?

* * *

  
  
“Put more weight on your left leg. It’ll make it easier to stay balanced when you punch.”  
  
 _Click._  
  
The next time Tim threw a punch at Dick’s head, he did as told and adjusted his stance. Not like he had much of a choice, anyhow.  
  
Dick blocked the hit and grinned. “Nice one. See, I told you this would be fun.”  
  
Oh, yeah. Super fun. As if Tim had _miraculously_ changed his mind not a full minute after dodging Dick’s whines and insisting he wasn’t in the mood to spar. In all truthfulness, Tim didn’t have much energy for anything these days. But Dick’s boredom was persistent.  
  
 _Oh come on, Timmy. Spar with me!_  
  
And that damned _click_ went off in Tim’s brain and had his lips moving automatically. _All right, fine. Let’s spar._  
  
He felt bad for resenting the joy on Dick’s face when he accepted. He couldn’t blame his brother for this. Dick had no idea what was _really_ going on. Nobody did. Tim was completely alone in his suffering—his only listening audience being the stray thoughts he clung to like a lifeline in order to maintain his own sanity.  
  
After an hour of sparring, Dick—bless him—said, “Let’s take a break,” and Tim’s body sagged, released like a snapped cord. Dick tossed him a water bottle. “Here, catch,” he said with a pitying chuckle. Tim caught.  
  
He’d wanted to take a break twenty minutes ago, but the _thing_ had kept him from speaking his mind. He was way past exhausted, and beads of sweat rolled down the back of his neck as he drank the water so fast he could barely catch a breath in between gulps.  
  
Dick guzzled down his own water, only stopping when his gaze snagged on something over Tim’s shoulder. “Hey, Bruce,” Dick said. “Good timing. We finished decoding that Lexcorp file you needed two hours ago, in case you were wondering. You’re welcome.”  
  
Technically “we” had been _Tim_ for the most part, all while Dick regaled him with stories from his more manic Blüdhaven police shifts. Not that Dick was lazy. He did offer to help Tim with the workload, but some old money party guest at Bruce’s last gala had cornered Tim into a conversation about his future with Wayne Enterprises. Told him that if he was going to hold his position as CEO, he needed to handle everything himself and not rely on others.  
  
 _Click._  
  
Bruce tightened his mouth into a semblance of what passed for a smile in his book. “Good work. I appreciate it.” His eyes were on Tim when he said it, but Tim said nothing. (Mrs. Franklin at the last WE board meeting had instructed him beforehand that he was not to speak unless spoken to. _Click.)_  
  
Bruce pursed his lips at Tim’s silence. “Dick, do you think you could give us a second?”  
  
Dick looked between the two of them with clear suspicion, but shrugged. “Sure. I’ll just head upstairs and try not to think about the pain of being cordially uninvited to whatever conversation you’re about to have.” He winked at Tim. “Don’t let him intimidate you.”  
  
 _Click._  
  
Nothing much erupted from the command, aside from the briefest trickle of ease which spread through Tim’s body. Dick’s footsteps had a carefree spring to them as he left, growing fainter and fainter until he was gone.  
  
Tim swayed his attention to Bruce. It was impossible to know what he was thinking. Tim squashed down any rising hope as quickly as he could—hope that Bruce had finally, _finally_ put it together that Tim wasn’t all right. Had come to tell him as much and concoct a plan to free him from this hell.  
  
“I wanted to talk to you about something,” Bruce said. The lines in his face were creased, but ultimately unreadable.  
  
Tim waited.  
  
“That night you got taken by Mad Hatter. When we were in the car, we had that talk about following instructions.”  
  
Tim swallowed. Though his face remained expressionless courtesy of the programming, his heart pounded with the implied meaning behind Bruce’s words. Finally. _Finally._  
  
Bruce scratched the back of his neck. “You’ve been acting...different, lately. A lot different. Right?”  
  
Wordlessly, Tim nodded. His knees felt weak.  
  
“I know you have,” Bruce said. “Like yesterday, when Damian asked you to help him clean his room, or Cass with her math homework. And with all of the projects I’ve thrown at you, there hasn’t been a single time you’ve disobeyed me.”  
  
 _Please, Bruce, help me._  
  
“I need you to know that I’ve noticed. I’ve seen how different you’ve been acting, so I can’t let it go unsaid any longer.”  
  
If Tim hadn’t been paralyzed into impassivity, he would have been bouncing on his heels, he would have been crying, he would have been falling to his knees in relief because finally, finally, _finally._ Bruce _noticed._  
  
For the first time in weeks, Tim let go of the weight he had carried since that night because after so long of entrapment, Bruce was going to _save_ him. Tim knew Bruce would figure it out eventually. He just knew it.  
  
Bruce met Tim’s eyes; deep blue and unwavering. “I am so proud of you, Tim.”  
  
Wait.  
  
Tim froze.  
  
“I don’t know what it was I said that inspired such a change, but I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to see that I finally got through to you.”  
  
No. No, no, no, no. _No._ This couldn’t be happening. It could _not_ be happening.  
  
“I couldn’t ask for a better partner,” Bruce continued, unaware of the fact that behind his inscrutable expression and closed lips Tim was clawing, fighting, _sobbing._ _  
_ _  
_ _Why?_ he wanted to scream. He wanted to grab Bruce by the shirt and force him to see, to understand the truth. _How can you not see it? How can nobody see that I am clearly not okay?_  
  
Bruce patted Tim on his numb shoulder, pride shining bright in his eyes. “Whatever you’re doing, keep it up.”  
  
And if Tim thought his will to fight couldn’t have sunk any lower, that unintended command was the final nail in the casket.  
  
Bruce hadn’t noticed. Tim was a mere shadow of himself—chained, gagged, and forced into the complacency of a zombie. And Bruce was standing there fucking _praising him for it._  
  
Had Tim been searching for proof that not a soul alive could care less about his well being, that was all the evidence he needed. He was a slave in his own body, and the _one_ man he’d counted on most of all to see it had just patted him on the shoulder and told him to his face that it was better for him to be a slave than a disobedient _failure_ of a partner.  
  
And all the while Tim smiled, for he wasn’t allowed to do anything but.  
  
As Bruce segued into the topic of the decoded files, a lump grew in Tim’s throat, choking him and cutting off the words his traitorous mouth wouldn’t have let him say anyway. The cries of frustration, the betrayed accusation that Bruce liked him _better this way._  
  
They _all_ liked him better this way. Submissive. Meek. Stuck tight under the thumbs of anyone around him with a voice and a task to be carried out. Tim was the most efficient soldier a commander could ask for, and not a single person cared enough to question it.  
  
Then again, why would they? Thanks to the mind-control, Tim was easy to use and easier to throw away once he’d fulfilled his objective. And wasn’t that what everyone wanted? Someone who was perfect? Someone who was polite, quiet, and out of the way until they were needed?  
  
If by some miracle that _weren’t_ the case, then why had the world’s greatest detective been too proud of Tim’s behavior to worry about whether or not it was organic? Maybe Bruce had been right all along.  
  
Maybe he was better this way. 

* * *

Damian never wanted to watch another musical ever again. He was just one show tune away from wringing Grayson’s neck in compensation for being forced to endure that torture. What the hell even _was_ greased lightning, anyway?  
  
Grayson had roped him into a marathon that afternoon, but after the third movie, Damian had managed to escape with the perfect excuse of needing to feed Titus. He had no intention of returning.  
  
Damian stomped through the hallway to his room, only to narrowly avoid running into Drake on the way. He was standing against the wall outside of the door to his own bedroom, doing nothing. Because that was a thing he did now, apparently.  
  
One of many strange habits Drake had recently accumulated, all of which Damian had neither the patience nor the interest to look into any further. Like how sometimes he would enter a room and find Drake sitting somewhere staring off into space. Other times, he would be grimacing at nothing in particular with an irritating sort of dismay that made Damian wonder if he had one or fifty screws loose.  
  
This time, Damian scowled as he came up to Drake’s spot in the narrow hallway. “Out of my way,” he sneered, awaiting the snotty remark that was sure to come.  
  
Only it never did.  
  
Instead, Tim silently moved out of Damian’s way as soon as the words left his mouth. He didn’t even say anything when Damian knocked his side with an elbow as he passed. Which was...odd.  
  
As he continued the trek to the safety of his room, Damian rolled his eyes. _Drake_ was odd.

* * *

  
  
“We need to talk.”  
  
Bruce didn’t take his eyes off of his paperwork. Some sort of business deal with Queen Consolidated, if Jason recalled correctly. “What do you need, Jay? I’m working.”  
  
Jason sauntered to the desk where Bruce sat, uncaring about etiquette as he slammed his gloved palm on the table, obstructing Bruce’s view of his precious work. He waited until he received grudging attention before crossing his arms.  
  
“Look,” Jason said. “I usually try not to care about the shit that goes on in this place, but clearly _you’re_ not going to do anything about it, so I guess it’s my job to step in.”  
  
Bruce’s thick eyebrows pulled together. “What in the world are you talking about?”  
  
A deep exhale. “Something’s wrong with the kid.”  
  
“Damian is fine.”  
  
Jason smacked his own forehead. “Fucking hell, I’m talking about _Tim._ You know, your other son? The one who’s been acting like a zombified freak, but you keep prancing along and pretending everything’s all bright and dandy?”  
  
Bruce rolled his eyes and turned back around in his chair.  
  
Jason followed. “Are you even listening to me? There is something seriously wrong with him, and apparently I’m the only one around here who can see it.”  
  
Bruce hummed without looking up. “Did you ever stop to think maybe that’s a sign that nothing is actually wrong?”  
  
“My _ass_ there’s nothing wrong.”  
  
Bruce waved a hand. “Tim is perfectly fine, Jason.”  
  
“Are you kidding me? Yesterday I knocked over a vase and told Tim to clean it up, and he fucking _did it.”_  
  
Only then did Bruce look up, mouth turned downward. “Which vase?”  
  
“Not the point!” He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “Look. Tim has been weird and polite and it’s getting on my nerves. Have you noticed that he hasn’t done anything wrong in _weeks?”_  
  
“I have noticed that, actually. Tim has been extremely well-behaved lately.”  
  
“And that doesn’t _bother you?”_  
  
“Why should it?”  
  
“Because it’s not _normal, Bruce._ Yeah he’s always sucked up to you and Grayson before, but this is a whole new level of ass-kissery. He’s up to something. Or he’s an impostor. Either one.”  
  
Bruce sighed, rubbing his eyelids. “A month ago, Tim disregarded orders to embark on a dangerous mission alone, and it landed him in trouble. I had a talk with him afterward about it, and he took my advice. There is no conspiracy, no mystery to uncover. And I won’t have you poking around looking for problems that aren’t there.”  
  
Jason was five seconds away from punching that smug look off of Bruce’s face. “They _are_ there! Not my fault you’re too blind to see it.”  
  
“Too blind to see what?” They both looked up to see Dick approaching, twirling an escrima stick like a showgirl baton.  
  
“Tim,” Jason said.  
  
“What about him?”  
  
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that he’s acting like a total freak?”  
  
Dick arched an eyebrow. “What are you talking about? Tim’s been great lately.”  
  
“And that doesn’t strike you as weird at all?”  
  
“No. Should it?”  
  
Jason threw his hands in the air. “Yes! You’re all acting like he’s some—some perfect angel, but I know there’s more to it. He’s been replaced with a clone, or it’s another alternate universe thing. Or he’s doing it all on purpose to drive _me_ crazy.”  
  
Dick and Bruce exchanged a look. Then Dick frowned at Jason. “Has it ever occurred to you that maybe you’re just being paranoid?”  
  
“Yeah,” Jason said, deadpan. “That’s it. Tim is completely normal and I’m a raving lunatic.” When the other two exchanged another look and shrugged, Jason pinched the bridge of his nose. “Wow. Thanks.”  
  
“We’re not saying you’re wrong,” Dick said. “It’s just that the situation isn’t as drastic as you’re making it out to be. Yes, Tim has been acting different, but he’s only trying to be the best person he can be. And you accusing him of deceit isn’t helping.”  
  
He squeezed Jason’s shoulder, but Jason smacked his hand away. “You’re all fucking idiots.”  
  
“Jaybird—”  
  
 _“No._ There is something seriously fucked-up going on around here, and if no one else is willing to see it then I’m not going to waste my breath trying to convince you. I’ll figure it out on my own.”  
  
And with that he turned, walked away, and set himself on a brand new agenda. One which featured super cool lone wolf Jason Todd and absolutely no one else, because _fuck_ other people. He didn’t need them anyway.  
  
“You’re not going to find anything,” Dick called after him.  
  
“I’m telling you, Dick,” Jason said without turning around. “Something’s not right, and I’m not going to stop until I find out what.” 

* * *

  
  
_I’m telling you, Dick. Something’s not right, and I’m not going to stop until I find out what._  
  
Dick didn’t want to admit it, but Jason’s words from earlier gave him an unsettling feeling. Like he was looking at a puzzle with one piece missing, smack dab in the middle. He tried to push it from his mind. Tim was fine. Dick would have known by now if he wasn’t.  
  
Still, despite his self-reassurances, Dick found himself exploring the manor that night in search of his second-youngest brother. He tracked him down eventually in Bruce’s study, just a quarter past midnight.  
  
Tim was curled up in the corner of the sofa, laptop perched on his legs. He wore one of Stephanie’s sweaters which was a tad too long for his arms, so the sleeves flopped over his hands. He hadn’t heard Dick come in, and Dick took the opportunity to linger in the doorway for some time, silently observing.  
  
Tim didn’t _look_ any different. Didn’t act in any way that could be considered abnormal. Sure he was a bit stiffer than usual, and the circles under his eyes were dark and puffy, but neither detail was too out of the ordinary for him.  
  
After awhile Dick tapped a knuckle on the door jamb, startling Tim into looking up. His expression didn’t change aside from a slight tightening in his lips. “Hi, Dick.” He set his gaze back on his work.  
  
“Hey.” Dick wandered further into the room, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Tim didn’t acknowledge him again. “What are you working on?”  
  
“Some reports Bruce told me to finish for him.”  
  
“Ah. And how long have you been up?”  
  
Tim’s eyes didn’t leave the screen. “A while.”  
  
“You going for the sleep-deprivation world record?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Dick frowned when Tim didn’t engage in the teasing like he normally did. “Well...maybe it’s time you got some sleep, yeah? Now go on up to bed," he said, reaching over to ruffle Tim's hair. "Your work will still be there in the morning.”  
  
Tim’s fingers froze on the keyboard. His shoulders straightened. “Okay.” Unceremoniously, he shoved the computer off his lap and stood, not bothering to cast Dick another glance as he slipped by him towards the door.  
  
Dick blinked. That was...surprisingly easy. In the past few years alone, Dick had dedicated what must have amounted to months wheedling Tim into adopting a somewhat healthy sleeping schedule. And there he was, going without a fuss.  
  
Pride bloomed in Dick’s heart at the change. But at the same time, so did worry. Jason _had_ said Tim was acting different…  
  
When Tim made it to the staircase at the end of the hall, Dick stepped forward. “Timmy, wait.”  
  
Tim froze again, foot halfway to the next step. He turned to look at Dick in silent question.  
  
“You’re...You’re doing okay, right?”  
  
Tim’s knuckles whitened on the banister. “I’m perfect.” He smiled, even if it didn’t reach his eyes. (He was just _tired,_ Dick reminded himself.)  
  
“But you would tell me if you weren’t?”  
  
“Yes.” Tim waited, but Dick said nothing more. He made no move to continue up the stairs, until: “Can I go now?”  
  
Dick hesitated before exhaling slowly through his nose. “Yeah. Yeah, go get some sleep.”  
  
Tim let out a breath as well, and his body relaxed. “Goodnight.”  
  
“Night, bud.”  
  
As he watched Tim go off to his room, Dick couldn’t tamp down the chill that ran over his skin. The way Tim moved, the way his eyes held this emptiness...it was all just because he was tired, right?  
  
Right.  
  
Tim was fine. Jason’s paranoia had simply gotten into Dick’s head. If there _was_ something wrong, Dick would have seen it weeks ago. It was that thought that had him nodding to himself and turning to head off to his own room for the night. Everything was perfectly fine.  
  
So why did his instincts scream at him that something was terribly, terribly wrong? 

* * *

  
  
Shit hit the fan a few days later, and it was only eighty percent Jason’s fault.  
  
It had been over a month since Tim’s mysterious change in attitude, and Jason was officially at the end of his rope. After covertly studying Tim’s behavior, he’d come to several conclusions:  
  
1) Tim wasn’t acting like himself in the slightest.  
  
2) Whatever his deal was, he was keeping the truth under lock and key.  
  
3) There was only one way to get the kid to spill his guts, and Jason was more than happy to invoke that method.  
  
The method in question, of course, being _Shake Him Down For Info And Maybe Even Threaten Him A Little If That’s What It Takes._ And it just so happened that Jason was a master at that particular thing.  
  
He managed to corner Tim in the garage just as the kid was about to get on his motorbike and head back to his apartment for the night. He’d been doing that more and more often—spending the night in solitude rather than with the rest of the family. _Exactly_ what someone would do if they were hiding something.  
  
As Tim pressed the button that opened the outside entrance, Jason planted a hand on the wall in front of him, effectively blocking the path back to his bike. “Not so fast, faker. I want the truth, and I want it now.”  
  
Even Tim’s annoyance was shrouded in indifference. “About what?”  
  
“You tell me.”  
  
Tim’s voice was uninterested as he replied, “You think I’m acting strange.” He side-stepped around Jason, only to be stopped again by Jason’s heavy hand planting itself on his shoulder. “Get out of my way, please.”  
  
“No. I’m not leaving until you drop the act and tell me what your problem is.”  
  
At that, Tim stopped struggling. He set his stare on Jason, eyes narrowed more so in exhaustion than anger, which only served to piss Jason off more. “I don’t have a problem.”  
  
“Yeah, and I don’t have anger issues.” Tim’s expression didn’t change. “I know everyone else has accepted your newfound good behavior or whatever, but I’m officially done playing nice. Something is wrong with you, and it’s _pissing me the hell off.”_  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
“See? That! Stop that.”  
  
At the demand Tim stiffened, slackened, stiffened again. As if for some reason, what Jason had said made his nervous system confused. “Stop...what?”  
  
“Being all polite and stuff! It’s getting on my nerves.”  
  
Tim frowned. “It’s bothering you that I’m...being polite?”  
  
“Yes!”  
  
“Oh.” His forehead creased. “Sorry?”  
  
“Stop apologizing!”  
  
Tim shut his mouth.  
  
Jason heaved a breath. In hindsight, yelling at the kid probably wasn’t the best strategy, but Jason had already burned that bridge he supposed. “Look, just...cut it out, okay? All of it.”  
  
Tim’s shoulders tightened again, and the muscles in his jaw tensed. Yet somehow he was still irritatingly calm as he said through clenched teeth, “I don’t. Know what. You’re talking about.”  
  
“This! The weird stuff!” To prove his point Jason waved a hand, gesturing to Tim in his entirety. “Whatever’s wrong with you, knock it off.”  
  
“I can’t.” For once, Tim managed to show a sliver of frustration.  
  
“What does that even _mean?”_  
  
“I can’t tell you.”  
  
Jason felt like he’d just been smacked in the head. “Why the hell not?”  
  
“Because I can’t.” Tim’s poker face could have won him enough to challenge Bruce’s wealth, Jason was sure of it.  
  
“Can’t or won’t?”  
  
“Can’t.”  
  
“Why won’t you just give me a real answer?”  
  
“I told you,” Tim said in that steady-as-ever voice of his. “I can’t tell you.”  
  
Jason’s nostrils flared. “Fine. Then what _can_ you tell me?”  
  
“That you’re hurting me.” He pointedly looked down, and Jason realized that he had a death grip on Tim’s shoulder. He unclenched his fingers, taking a step back. Tim straightened his shirt.  
  
“This is all part of some scheme of yours, isn’t it?” Jason said.  
  
“No.”  
  
“Like _hell_ it isn’t. You’re playing Mr. Perfect Child to get on everyone’s good sides, and then making _me_ look like an idiot when I’m the only one who doesn’t fall for it. Don’t tell me that’s not your plan.”  
  
“Okay, I won’t.”  
  
“ _God,_ you’re so fucking—” Jason let loose a deep growl. “Fine,” he snapped. “Whatever. I don’t give a shit what you do anymore. Go—” He threw up his hands. “Christ, just go and jump off a fucking building for all I care.”  
  
Tim’s head, which had hung low, picked up suddenly. “Okay.”  
  
And with that he smoothly dodged around his brother, charting a path straight to his awaiting bike. He didn’t even bother to put on his helmet before turning on the engine and pulling out. Jason watched him go, hot anger roiling in his stomach all the while.  
  
If he were Kori, the whole garage would have been torched by now. He tightened his hands into fists. Stupid pretender. It was one thing to weasel his way to the top by pulling on some flimsy angel guise, but it was a whole other thing to—

Hold up.  
  
Had he just...said okay?  
  
Jason blinked. Tim had…  
  
But he was just joking, right? That was a joke. Tim didn’t actually mean it. _Clearly_ he knew that Jason hadn’t actually meant what he said—and even if he had, Tim would never go and kill himself just because _Jason_ told him to. He wouldn’t.  
  
...Then again, Tim shouldn’t have done a _lot_ of the things he was told, and he completed all of those other tasks without question. Almost like he couldn’t help himself. Jason felt his anger slowly curl into a new feeling, one which made his gut tighten in what he would forever deny was concern.  
  
He shook his head. “Stop it,” he muttered to himself. “You’re being stupid.” Because it _was_ stupid. Stupid and crazy. No person in their right mind would obey a suicide order just like that.  
  
And yet…  
  
Tim said okay. Jason told him to kill himself, and he said okay. Why would he do that? Was it sarcasm? If that were the case, then why didn’t Jason detect an ounce of humor in his tone as he said it? Why did he look the same way he always did these days? Empty. Cold. Numb.  
  
A dangerous feeling seeped into Jason’s extremities, and he knew it was stupid. It was idiotic and crazy and pointless because _obviously_ there was nothing to worry about. _Obviously_ Tim was just going home and Jason was standing there freaking himself out over nothing. And tomorrow the family would be laughing over it at the breakfast table, Tim included. Laughing about how Jason blew a silly comment _way_ out of proportion and made a complete fool of himself in the process.  
  
Despite all that, Jason found himself reaching for his phone and dialing three on speed dial without pausing for a second to think it over.  
  
The line rang twice before it was picked up. “Hello?”  
  
“Dick?” Jason swallowed. He looked back at the spot in the distance where Tim had driven away. “I think I fucked up.”

* * *

  
  
A breeze blew through Tim’s hair as he stood at the top of Wayne Tower, 1,000 feet above the ground. He was only a foot or two from the actual edge—from the last whisper of a connection between ground and air—and if there was one thing Tim knew right then and there, it was that he wasn’t getting out of this alive.  
  
He’d been standing on the cusp for fifteen minutes now, at war with his own body. It took all of the willpower he had just to stay rooted, but that was as much as he could do. He was powerless to step back. All he could do was keep himself from crossing that last foot into open air, knowing all the while that he couldn’t hold out forever.  
  
It was a tug-of-war, and Tim was losing.  
  
 _I’m going to die,_ Tim thought, somewhat hysterically. There was no question about it. _I’m going to die, and Jason is going to hate himself for as long as he lives._  
  
He dared a glance down at the street below, and his stomach immediately recoiled. Where there was empty sidewalk would soon be a mess of red, and the image refused to leave Tim’s already-panicked mind after that. _His_ broken body, _his_ twisted limbs, _his_ final moments in the land of the living.  
  
After so long of fighting and hoping and waiting for rescue, this would be Tim Drake’s less-than-heroic ending. A long fall and a sudden stop. A sidewalk pizza.  
  
Every muscle in Tim’s worn-out body urged him to jump, to accept defeat and just let go, but he fought it. And the longer he fought, the more it felt sort of like when he was a kid and he used to test how long he could hold his breath. After half a minute or so his lungs would start to burn and his instincts would tell him to breathe in, to stop resisting and take that precious gulp of air.  
  
Only now Tim wasn’t listening to his instincts, for they were no longer his own. Even when his head pounded to the point that stars burst in his vision and his muscles trembled with the effort, he refused to take that breath.  
  
But his strength was waning fast. Sweat dripped down his forehead, and he didn’t even realize he was crying until the wind cooled his tear-soaked cheeks.  
  
After what felt like hours, Tim all but sobbed with relief when a voice behind him shouted, “Tim?”  
  
Tim couldn’t move his body much otherwise risk losing the tenuous control he still possessed, but he managed to turn around. Like him, Dick was in civvies. He stood just a few yards in front of Tim, the door to the roof hanging open behind him.  
  
Dick’s eyes were wide. Scared. And they grew even more so when they met Tim’s antithetical gaze, devoid of any emotion despite the fact that his insides were having the breakdown of the century.  
  
“Hey uh, Timmy?” His voice shook. “You okay?”  
  
Had he been in control of his mouth, lungs, or voice, Tim would have laughed. _Do I look like I’m okay?_ But all he could do was remain where he stood, looking again over his shoulder at the sidewalk below. He answered honestly. “No.”  
  
Dick swallowed hard. “Okay...Why don’t you come over here and we can talk it out, then?”  
  
 _That doesn’t count._ “I can’t do that.”  
  
“Sure you can. Just...think about what you’re doing, okay?”  
  
Tim wanted to scream his frustration. _Tell me,_ he ached to say. _Tell me to back away from the ledge._  
  
“I have,” his lips said for him instead. “I am.” He had to be inches from the edge now. Tears ran down his face in an unending torrent, soaking into the collar of his shirt. His breath trembled on every inhale, yet he knew he looked as impassive as ever on the outside.  
  
 _Tell me to stop._  
  
“Tim, please,” Dick said, his voice becoming desperate. His hand twitched at his side, but he didn’t come closer. Probably scared Tim would panic and leap if he moved too suddenly. “I don’t know what’s going through your head right now, but you don’t have to do this.”  
  
 _Tell me to go home with you._  
  
“Yes I do.” For half a second Tim’s grip slipped, and his leg jerked another inch backward. Tim’s heart was pounding now. His heel hung just over the edge. One more step, and it would all be over. _  
__  
__Tell me_ something, _Dick. Save my life._  
  
Dick didn’t miss the movement, and his pleas became frantic. “ _Please,_ Timmy, I know we can fix this together if you just—”  
  
And, like a rubber band snapping, Tim felt the last of his strength slip away. “I’m sorry, Dick. Really, I am.”  
  
Dick paled. “Tim—”  
  
“But you can’t fix this.”  
  
And, like a puppet on a string, he stepped off the ledge.  
  
 _“No!”_  
  
Tim fell, and in that bare second of weightlessness, Tim knew this was it. He lost. He was going to die a messy, gruesome death, and his family would never find out the truth about what happened. The secret would die with him.  
  
 _Sorry, Bruce._  
  
The next thing Tim knew, he was being yanked to a sudden stop. He cried out in pain as his right shoulder was wrenched from its socket, halting his descent in an instant. His body dangled, the wind tearing at his clothes.  
  
Tim looked up in shock, and there was Dick, clutching Tim’s wrist in one hand while the other gripped the edge of the building. His face was contorted with the strain of holding their combined weight, but he didn’t lose his grip.  
  
A strangled sob tore from Tim’s throat, and he didn’t struggle as Dick slowly but surely pulled them both back up. Dick was panting with exertion by the time he’d gotten Tim back on solid ground, and they collapsed together on the roof.  
  
“Holy shit,” Dick said, breathless. “Oh my god.” He didn’t release Tim’s wrist, and Tim was almost glad for it.  
  
Dick was shaking nearly as badly as Tim was when he wrapped his arms around him, crushing him in a tight hug. Whether it was to comfort or restrain him, Tim didn’t know, nor did he care. He buried his face in Dick’s shoulder.  
  
It was strange, not being able to cry. Or, at least, not being able to _fully_ cry. While tears ran from Tim’s eyes, he couldn’t fight the forced stoniness of his expression which held him back from truly letting go. It was like watching a movie without audio. Or breathing with one lung. Incomplete and suffocating.  
  
Tim didn’t fight against Dick’s hold, yet he was unable to hug him back the way he wanted to. All he could do was close his eyes and listen to the raspiness of his own breathing; watch the way his hands shook where they hung at his sides.  
  
“Don’t try that again,” Dick whispered, clutching Tim to his chest. “Please. Don’t you ever scare me like that again.”  
  
And Tim sighed with relief as he felt the command click into place. 

* * *

  
  
Dick kept his death grip on Tim’s uninjured arm all the way through their ride to the Batcave, and even when they arrived he didn’t dare leave his side. He dragged Tim over to one of the cots in the med bay and directed him to sit. Tim sat.  
  
He looked up at Dick with the same kind of gaze one would watch a mediocre Hallmark movie with. Indifferent to the core. It was almost creepy, how not a line on his face betrayed his self-inflicted brush with death.  
  
 _I’m sorry, Dick._ _  
__  
__But you can’t fix this._  
  
Dick knew he would have nightmares about that moment for the rest of his life.  
  
Tim hadn’t uttered a word since then. Just sat quietly on the roof while Dick called Bruce to let him know what had happened, and then followed wherever Dick led him after. He hadn’t even reacted when Dick pushed his shoulder back into place, aside from a muffled whimper.  
  
Dick couldn’t shake the feeling that the old Tim had died, and now all that was left was an unfeeling corpse.  
  
Luckily, everyone was already gathered upon their arrival at the cave. Alfred and Bruce rushed over to Tim right away while Damian, Jason, and Cass hung back. Bruce and Damian were still in uniform, having come straight from a mission when they’d gotten Dick’s call.  
  
More than the others, Jason looked undeniably relieved to see Tim alive and—mostly—unharmed. There was guilt there too, and Dick wondered if it was because he’d told Tim to jump off a building, or because Tim actually went and did it.  
  
“Master Timothy!” said Alfred. “Are you all right?” Dick could assume Bruce had filled the others in already. Good. He didn’t have it in him to retell the almost-tragedy a second time.  
  
Tim nodded silently. His eyes stayed fixed on the floor beneath his feet.  
  
“His shoulder was dislocated,” Dick told Alfred. “I popped it back in, but it could still use some work.” Alfred tutted and went to grab the cart of medical supplies.  
  
Bruce went right to Tim’s side, worry shrouded behind his stony exterior. “Tell me the truth, Tim. Did you really try to kill yourself?”  
  
Tim’s face turned red in spite of his blank expression. He nodded.  
  
Cass inhaled sharply. Her eyes were wide, like she couldn’t even imagine the thought. “Why?” she breathed.  
  
“Jason told me to.”  
  
All eyes shot to Jason. He floundered for a moment, antsy now that the blame was settling. “I didn’t _mean it,_ dipshit.”  
  
“Like that makes a difference,” Damian muttered. His arms were crossed, and he stood more off to the side than his siblings. Like he was afraid to get too close.  
  
“You stay _out of this,”_ Jason hissed, jabbing a finger at him. “And who’s the one who knew something was wrong with him in the first place? Me. Whereas the rest of you chose to ignore that Tim has _clearly_ been messed up in the head for a long time.”  
  
“Jason,” Bruce snapped, though his eyes didn’t leave Tim. “Knock it off.”  
  
“Why? Looks like I’m the only one who actually cares around here.”  
  
“You told him to jump off a building,” Damian reminded him.  
  
“Yeah, but I wasn’t _serious.”_  
  
“Nobody is blaming you,” said Bruce.  
  
Jason rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. Of course you are. Everything is all Jason’s fault, what a surprise!”  
  
While they argued, Dick watched Tim. Despite the situation, Tim seemed...uninterested. Had it not been for the newly-slung shoulder and dried tear tracks, it would have been impossible to tell he’d tried to commit suicide not an hour prior. It gave Dick a bad feeling deep in the core of his being.  
  
He knelt in front of Tim, who didn’t meet his eyes. “Hey,” he said, nudging Tim’s knee. “Look at me.” Tim did. “Tell me what’s going through your head right now.”  
  
“I’m scared.” His line of sight darted from Dick, to the argument around them, back to Dick.  
  
“What are you scared of?”  
  
“That you’re not going to be able to fix what’s wrong with me.”  
  
Right away red flags started going up in Dick’s head. He made eye contact with Alfred over Tim’s shoulder, and the man’s worry mirrored Dick’s own in his aged eyes. At this point the others had quelled their bickering and were paying attention as well. Jason’s eyebrows drew together and stayed that way.  
  
Dick squeezed Tim’s knee. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”  
  
“Yes there is.” Tim’s composure still didn’t crack, and Dick almost wished it would. Wished Tim would show some emotion, some real fear, _something._  
  
“Whatever it is, we’ll fix it. I promise.”  
  
“I don’t think you can,” Tim whispered.  
  
“Why’s that?”  
  
Tim picked at his palm anxiously, but he said nothing.  
  
After half a minute of nothing, Dick sent Bruce a pleading look, and thankfully he took over. “Fine,” Bruce said, stepping closer, “then we’ll start with something a little easier. Do you want to die?” Blunt as ever.  
  
Tim shook his head.  
  
“Then why did you jump?”  
  
“I told you. Jason made me do it.” Now they were getting somewhere.  
  
“Stop saying that,” Jason snapped. Tim shut his mouth. “I didn’t _make you_ do anything. You knew I was being sarcastic. Not my fault you decided to take it literally.”  
  
“Not the point,” said Dick.  
  
“Isn’t it? He’s trying to frame me for almost-murder, when I didn’t even really tell him to do it in the first place!”  
  
“Why would Tim attempt suicide just to get you in trouble?”  
  
“Why does he do half the shit he does? Obviously he’s snapped.”  
  
Cass crossed her arms. “Tim isn’t crazy.”  
  
“Oh, I’m sorry, do you have another explanation you’d like to share with the class?”  
  
Bruce ignored their spat, stepping closer to Tim’s cot. “Tim.” He waited until he was met with glassy blue eyes, and his face softened. “What is going on with you?” He said it gently. Carefully. As if a single nudge too hard would have devastating consequences.  
  
Tim’s knee started to bounce. “I can’t tell you.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
Again, Tim went silent.  
  
After a while, Damian sighed. “Well this has been informative.”  
  
“Sorry,” Tim said, and it was clear he meant it.  
  
“See?” Jason said. He waved a hand in Tim’s direction. “He just apologized to _Damian._ You can’t tell me this is normal.”  
  
Damian wrinkled his nose. “I hate to say it, but Todd might be right. Maybe Drake really did go crazy.”  
  
“Guys, he’s sitting right here,” Dick said.  
  
“Yes, I can see that.”  
  
“So maybe you should stop talking about him like he can’t hear _everything you’re saying.”_  
  
“Why should I?”  
  
“Because you’re being a bitch,” Jason said, hip cocked.  
  
“Oh, _I’m_ the bitch? I swear, Todd, I will take that grin and shove it directly up your—”  
  
“Everyone _shut it,”_ Bruce snapped. Damian and Jason moved as far away from each other as possible, but Jason still stuck out his tongue and Damian flipped him the bird.  
  
Rolling his eyes Bruce turned to Tim, who had gone stiff. “Tim, are you depressed? Because if you are, it’s okay. We can handle that. But I need an answer if you want me to help you.”  
  
Tim said nothing.  
  
Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “Fine, then can you at least tell us why you jumped off the roof?”  
  
“Or why you can’t say the reason you’ve been acting different?” Dick added.  
  
Silence.  
  
“Tim?”  
  
He simply stared back at Bruce, mouth closed.  
  
“Great,” Jason said after a while. “You’ve been _super_ helpful, Timbo.” To the rest: “Anyone else have an idea of what to do now? Because I’m fresh out.”  
  
Then, surprising everyone, Cass spoke up. She’d been so quiet throughout this entire confrontation, Dick had almost forgotten she was there. “I think...I think I might.” She stepped forward, and Dick moved out of her way.  
  
“Tim,” she said. He looked at her. She squared her shoulders and said, voice clear, “Answer their questions.”  
  
Tim’s breath hitched and the words came rushing out. “No, I’m not depressed. I had to jump off of the roof because Jason told me to do it, and I really do _want_ to tell you all the truth about why I’m acting this way, but I’m not allowed and I’ve tried everything I can think of but there’s no way out, there’s—there’s no way to fix this.” His voice shook, as did the rest of him.  
  
At this point, everyone was perplexed. Even Bruce had no idea where to go from there.  
  
“That...makes no sense,” Damian said after a while.  
  
“Yeah,” Jason agreed. “And how come when I ask questions I get _nada,_ but when Cassie here does it you’re suddenly happy to share?”  
  
“Really?” Dick said. “That’s the part that concerns you?”  
  
“It’s a valid question!”  
  
“Shut _up,”_ Cass said, but even as she glared at Jason her face was pale. She set her gaze back on Tim, and the look in her eyes gave Dick chills. She’d figured something out, that much was clear.  
  
Bruce must have seen it as well. “What is it, Cass?”  
  
She ignored him, and instead took a deep breath. “Tim?” she said slowly, tentatively. “Raise your left hand, please.”  
  
Tim did it before she’d even finished the sentence. Everyone fell silent.  
  
Cass didn’t look surprised, but the light in her eyes was simultaneously horrified and enlightened. “Put your hand down.” He did. “Tell me your...whole name?”  
  
“Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne.” There wasn’t a moment of hesitation—almost like Tim _wanted_ them to see. He _wanted_ them to know the truth.  
  
“Holy shit,” Jason breathed.  
  
Dick didn’t know what to say. He covered his mouth with one hand, growing more repulsed as the pieces clicked one by one into place, forming a picture he didn’t want to see. He met Bruce’s eyes, only to find him in a similar state of shock. Even Damian had the decency to look sickened.  
  
“He’s...being forced to obey,” Dick choked out. Leveled his gaze to Tim’s. “That’s it, isn’t it? That’s what you wanted to tell us.”  
  
While outwardly he remained emotionless, a single tear slid down Tim’s pale cheek, and Dick knew that he was right.  
  
“Who did this to you?” Damian demanded. He looked ready to punch a building.  
  
“I’m not allowed to tell you.”  
  
But Tim didn’t need to, for the seething rage overtaking Bruce’s face made it clear that he already knew. “Hatter,” he growled, eyes dark and all but murderous. Dick could relate.  
  
Again Tim said nothing, but the shiver he gave at the name was confirmation enough.  
  
Everyone jumped when Jason slammed his fist into the nearest surface: one of Bruce’s metal desks. “I’ll kill him,” he said through clenched teeth. “I swear to _god_ I’ll kill him.”  
  
“How long?” Dick asked. He took Tim’s shaking hand in his.  
  
“Five weeks,” Tim answered right away. Dick felt like he was going to be sick. _Five weeks._ Tim had been stuck like this for over a _month._  
  
Bruce looked like it was taking all of the will power he possessed to keep his cool, but he seemed to be succeeding. Dick understood his caution. It was bad enough that each of them had dropped the ball and missed what was truly going on. They didn’t need to add scaring Tim and making him think this was his fault to the list.  
  
So instead of the number of things Bruce’s anger could have done, he placed a reassuring hand on Tim’s shoulder. “Tim, I…” He took a breath. “I swear to you we will figure this out. Everything is going to be okay.”  
  
Tim didn’t do much but nod and let another tear fall, but Dick could imagine that the emptiness in his eyes cleared the slightest bit. That if nothing else, he looked _half_ a percentage less miserable than he had five minutes ago, and at least that was something.  
  
It was something. 

* * *

A chip. Smaller than a grain of rice and located right at the base of his skull. Hatter must have injected it into Tim’s neck while he was in captivity. It was so small that it was no wonder why it hadn’t shown up on Bruce’s scans before. Now, with Tim’s help and the proof to back it up, there was no denying the tiny device that had taken over Dick’s little brother’s life.  
  
However, even after they knew what and where it was, there were still questions to be answered.  
  
“Tim,” Bruce said gently. “I need to know exactly what happened with Hatter.” They were all still in the Batcave, armed with snacks no one touched and a paralyzing sense of macabre. Tim was back on his cot, no less anxious now than he was before. Dick sat on one side of him, while Cass took the other. The others tried not to crowd him too much, but even they couldn’t help hovering.  
  
“I’m not supposed to tell you that,” Tim replied automatically. Underneath the stoic programming, he did sound genuinely remorseful.  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“He told me not to tell anyone what he did.”  
  
Bruce considered that, jaw tightening. “Fine, then I...I _order_ you to tell me.”  
  
“Bruce, no—” Dick started, but Tim was already shooting off information.  
  
“I was staking it out from the third floor of the next building over at approximately 11:35 p.m. when I chose a moment in which Hatter was distracted to bust in, but I underestimated his preparedness and landed right in a trap and then he—”  
  
“Tim, wait,” Dick said, seeing Tim’s face grow red when he didn’t stop for a breath. Tim cut off immediately, and only then did Dick realize his mistake. “I mean—fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make that an order.”  
  
Tim shrugged sheepishly.  
  
Dick turned to Bruce. “We can’t just force him to tell us what we want to know. It’s not fair to him, and it’s only making things worse anyway.”  
  
“We need to get answers somehow,” Bruce said, “and this might be the only way to do it.”  
  
“Forgive me for stating the obvious,” Jason chimed in, “but can’t we just take it out? We know where the device is. All we have to do is get it out of him, and afterward you can ask him whatever questions you’d like.”  
  
“It doesn’t work like that,” Bruce said. “We don’t know how integrated it is with his system. Taking it out now could do more harm than good.” He directed his next words at Dick. “Which is _why_ it’s better to get the information we need now, no matter the means.”  
  
“I don’t mind,” Tim said quietly. “I’m used to it anyway.”  
  
“You shouldn’t _have_ to be used to it.” Dick shook his head. “Look, Tim, can you please just tell us whatever you’re able to? It’s up to you what gets revealed and what doesn’t.”  
  
Tim chewed his lip. “I’m not allowed to tell anyone what Hatter did, or what his plan was before he got arrested,” he said slowly. “I have to obey every order given to me. I have to act natural, but...I don’t think I did that well enough. I’m not allowed to lie. I have to be polite. I can’t speak unless spoken to.”  
  
“Hatter told you all that?” Jason asked. “What the hell was he planning with those kinds of wacko instructions?”  
  
“Not all of it was Hatter.” Tim’s voice was so quiet, Dick almost wished he’d heard him wrong. A pause rippled through the group as it sank in exactly what that meant.  
  
“God, Tim,” Dick said. “I’m so sorry.”  
  
Tim shrugged. “I don’t blame you. You didn’t know.”

Bruce’s voice was hard as gravel. “And you can’t disobey a single order?”  
  
“I can hesitate sometimes, but…”  
  
His attention perked. “But what?”  
  
“It...hurts.”  
  
A stone fell somewhere in Dick’s gut. “Hurts? Hurts how?”  
  
Tim licked his lips nervously. “When I don’t do what I’m told right away, I think the device makes my body register it as pain. A lot of pain. Kind of like...brain freeze? But way more intense. And it gets worse the longer I wait until I have no choice but to give in and make it stop.”  
  
This entire time Dick had restrained himself from touching Tim too much, if only to keep from overwhelming him. But now he didn’t even think before he was drawing Tim into his side and wrapping one arm around his shoulder. Tim didn’t fight him—just sank limply into the embrace and stayed there.  
  
Jason ran a hand through his hair. “This is so fucked up.”  
  
Dick had to agree. “So you’re telling me that every time one of us told you to do something, we were hurting you?”  
  
Tim nodded against his shoulder. He wasn’t even ruffled by the conversation, and Dick wished he would break down and show some emotion. Anything was better than this...empty shell he was now.  
  
“I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”  
  
“That’s why you’ve been so helpful,” Bruce said, eyes lit with understanding. “Why you’ve been taking orders so well. You never had a choice.” He looked like he was going to be sick. “I thought it was that talk we had—that I had gotten through to you, but this whole time it was—” He dropped his head and rubbed his eyelids. “Damn it. I’m so sorry, Tim. I should have known.”  
  
“It’s not your fault,” Tim said. “You didn’t know.”  
  
“I should have.”  
  
“You didn’t want to.”  
  
That got Bruce’s attention. “What? What are you talking about?”  
  
Tim carried on like they were talking about the weather; not something so dire as his free will. “You all like me better this way. It’s okay. I don’t blame you.”  
  
Bile rose in Dick’s throat, but he swallowed it down. “Tim...god, no. Don’t say—” He stopped himself.  
  
But the way Tim pointedly remained silent spoke volumes. There Dick was, yet again proving his point.  
  
“He’s right,” said Damian, who had all but faded into the background until that moment. “We have been taking advantage of his...condition, whether we want to admit it or not.”  
  
“No, he’s _not_ right,” Bruce insisted. “Tim, we would never want you to be stuck like this. It’s inhumane.”  
  
Tim shrugged. “I’m a better partner this way. A better son, brother, person—”  
  
 _“Tim—”_  
  
“You told me you were proud of me.” Bruce’s mouth snapped shut. Then to Dick: “You like spending time with me more when I’m this way. I can’t bother Damian. I help Alfred. The only one who _wasn’t_ happy was Jason, and that’s only because Bruce told me to be nice to my brothers but Hatter told me to act normal and I couldn’t do both.”  
  
Jason‘s eyes narrowed, but it was clear that Tim wasn’t the one he was mad at. “That doesn’t mean we want you to stay this way.”  
  
“I know. I’m saying that you should.”  
  
It went quiet, and one could cut the tension in the room with a batarang. Nobody knew what to say. What _could_ they say? How could they possibly defend themselves?  
  
Tim was right. He’d been stuck as a manipulated slave for over a month, and not _one_ of them cared enough to see past the fake smiles and blind obedience. Even Dick kept catching himself giving Tim accidental commands, as if he were so used to doing so that he couldn’t help but take advantage. He was disgusted with himself, and imagined the others could relate.  
  
They all jumped when Bruce’s fist slammed hard into the wall beside him. He spun on his heel and stomped off toward the garage, pulling his cowl down over his face.  
  
“Father?” Damian asked. “Where are you going?”  
  
“Arkham,” Bruce growled without turning around or breaking stride. The rage radiating off of him was contestable to that of any Red Lantern. The only other time Dick had seen him this furious was when he’d been on his one-man mission to bring Damian back from the dead.  
  
“Why?” Cass asked.  
  
Bruce pressed a button on his keys, and the Batmobile unlocked with a chirp. “Because Hatter is going to tell me _exactly_ what he did and how to disable it, or I am going to break every bone in his body.”  
  
None of the others dared follow or try to stop him. And to be honest, they didn’t want to. Dick certainly hoped Hatter got what was coming to him. Especially when dried tears still shone on Tim’s skin, and his forced blank expression didn’t crack in the slightest. It was like a part of his soul had died.  
  
Tim watched Bruce go, lips pressed into a pale line. Dick put a hand on his wrist, drawing his attention. “Hey. What are you thinking right now?”  
  
Tim spoke automatically. “I’m tired.” His frown deepened right after he said it. It must suck not having control over what you say or do.  
  
“Do you want to take a nap?”  
  
He shook his head.  
  
Dick didn’t know what else to say after that. He looked to the others, but they seemed as clueless as he felt. It wasn’t like they could pretend everything was normal, because it wasn’t.  
  
Luckily, Alfred chose that time to come in and save the day. “Master Timothy,” he said. “Perhaps you would be more comfortable resting upstairs until Master Bruce’s return?” He spoke smoothly, careful not to phrase it like a command.  
  
Tim nodded timidly. “Okay.” He didn’t protest the grip Dick kept on his wrist as he was led upstairs.  
  
After that scare on the rooftop, the thought of having him farther than three feet away made Dick nervous. Tim didn’t appear to mind the hovering, but it was difficult to tell whether that was his own personal preference, or just another effect of the programming. Dick didn’t have it in him to ask.  
  
He let Dick sit him on the couch, and out of the corner of his eye Dick saw that Jason, Cass, and Damian were nowhere to be found. He didn’t blame them. The air was filled with a fragile energy that made every breath feel like an intrusion.  
  
Tim sat stiffly, even when Dick set himself beside him. His back was rigid, and Dick couldn’t help but think of a marionette. At the whim of the strings that directed his every move.  
  
“Is there anything I can do to make this even slightly less terrible?”  
  
Tim shrugged. His fingers dug into the couch cushions on either side of him.  
  
“You...sure you don’t want to sleep? You look exhausted.” If the circles under Tim’s eyes were any indication, the poor kid hadn’t gotten a proper night’s sleep in weeks.  
  
“No. I don’t really like sleeping lately.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
Tim bit his lip. “It’s...kind of like sleep paralysis? I’m not the one in control most of the time, so it’s like being forced to relax only makes me more keyed-up. And I can’t sleep but I’m not allowed to _not_ sleep either, and…” He trailed off at the look of horror that was surely on Dick’s face. “Sorry.”  
  
“Don’t apologize, it’s not your fault.”  
  
Tim’s nails dug deeper into the couch, and only then did Dick realize his mistake. “Shit, I didn’t mean—You don’t have to obey. When Bruce gets back, he’s going to have an antidote or a code or whatever, and you’ll never be forced to obey again.”  
  
“Yeah. Right.” But even as he said the words, it was clear that Tim didn’t believe them. And that just about broke Dick's heart into a million pieces.  
  
“Can I hug you?”  
  
“You don’t have to. I’m okay.”  
  
“I know you are. But I need one”  
  
And finally— _finally_ —a smile graced Tim’s face. It wasn’t big or bright or even certifiably genuine. But it was there, and that was enough to make Dick smile back as his little brother opened his arms and allowed Dick to pull him into an embrace.  
  
This hug was different from the one on the roof. Dick tried not to restrain, not to make Tim feel even more trapped than he already did. But it helped Dick settle his nerves, and he could only hope that it helped Tim as well. 

* * *

  
  
When Jason came into the living room half an hour later, a string of rehearsed apologies ready to burst from behind his tongue, he was stunned to find Tim asleep. Must have been too exhausted to help himself once the dust had settled and the day’s events took their toll.  
  
Tim was slumped over the arm of the sofa, his torso over Dick’s lap and his feet in Cass’. Damian sat cross-legged on the carpet, glaring while he picked at a thread in his sleeve. Alfred could be heard puttering around in the kitchen, humming along to one of his opera albums.  
  
Jason hung in the doorway. It was strange, watching Tim sleep—mind-hijacked as he was. Where tension should have bled out of worn muscles, rigidity remained strung through every nerve. His face, which should have looked peaceful, was far from it. Watching Tim sleep was like watching someone relax on a bed of nails.  
  
“How’s he doing?”  
  
“Given the circumstances?” Dick said in an almost-whisper. “About as well as you’d expect.”  
  
“Father will be back any minute with a solution,” Damian said. “He’ll figure out how to reverse Hatter’s work, and everything will be fine.” If Jason didn’t know any better, he’d think Damian was trying to reassure himself as much as he was the rest of them.  
  
The room gave off a family-dwelling vibe that Jason himself most certainly did _not_ emanate, so instead of joining his siblings, he stood against the wall, arms crossed. “Good. I want to get that thing the hell out of him as soon as possible.”  
  
Cass nodded in agreement. “I don’t like seeing him this way. He’s...hurting.”  
  
“No shit,” Damian said with an eyeroll. Before Dick could chide him for foul language, he continued, “I can’t imagine it’s much fun being a lunatic’s puppet.”  
  
“Or anyone’s puppet, for that matter,” Jason added.  
  
Cass frowned down at Tim, who slept on undisturbed. “We’ll find a way to...fix him, right?”  
  
“Yeah,” Dick said. “Of course we will. Bruce won’t stop until he finds a way.”  
  
“Exactly,” said Jason. “Timbo will be back to his old know-it-all self in no time.”  
  
“Jason,” Dick chastised.  
  
“What? It’s a compliment.”  
  
Dick was about to say more, but then Tim made a noise in his sleep and the room fell silent. With a barely-audible whimper Tim pulled his arms in closer to his chest, almost as if he were trying to make himself smaller. His brows were furrowed, and Jason couldn’t imagine that his dreams were pleasant ones.  
  
For the second time, he found himself saying, “This is so fucked up.”  
  
“You don’t have to tell us that,” Dick said. He smoothed Tim’s hair back with his fingers. “You know he’s worried we’re going to leave him like this? He thinks we like him better this way.”  
  
“We _don’t,”_ Cass said, insulted at the insinuation.  
  
“He doesn’t know that.”  
  
Damian scoffed. “Not like we gave him any reason to think otherwise.” All eyes turned to him. “You heard Drake. It’s been five weeks since Mad Hatter did...whatever he did to him. He has been this way for over a _month,_ and not one of us noticed.”  
  
“We didn’t know it was anything abnormal,” Dick said.  
  
“But we _should_ have. We’re detectives. Our job is to see things that others don’t, yet we ignored what was right in front of our faces.” His hand tightened into a fist on his lap. “We liked him better this way.”  
  
“Don’t _say that,”_ Dick hissed, body curling protectively over Tim’s as if to shield him from the mere idea.  
  
“Don’t deny it. It was obvious that something was off, but we chose to pretend it wasn’t there. I saw that Drake was acting different, but I didn’t delve further into it, and neither did any of you. We told ourselves what we wanted to hear. None of us tried to help him.”  
  
“Jason did,” Cass said.  
  
Jason rolled his eyes. “I harassed the kid and made him jump off a skyscraper. I’d hardly call that helping.”  
  
“But you noticed.”  
  
Jason chewed his cheek. Despite her words, guilt still tore at his insides in a _The-Very-Hungry-Caterpillar_ -like way. “I should have known better. It was obvious that something was wrong, but I had no idea it was something like this.” He shook his head. “I thought he was _messing with me._ I thought…”  
  
 _Go and jump off a fucking building for all I care._  
  
“I’m such a dick.”  
  
“It’s not your fault,” the real Dick said. “If it weren’t for you, we might never have realized what was really going on.”  
  
“Like that makes it better.” Jason’s fingers twitched, and for the first time in a long time, he craved a cigarette. “We’re the worst family in the whole damn universe. Tim needed us— _really_ needed us—and we let him down in the worst way possible.”  
  
“It wasn’t—”  
  
“Yeah, actually, it _was_ our faults. It was all our faults. That whole time, the poor kid must have been waiting for just _one_ of us to see what was happening and set him free. Instead he got weeks of disappointment, and then his own brother forced him into almost killing himself.”  
  
The room went quiet as Jason’s words hung in the air, incontestable.  
  
Even now, Jason couldn’t get the image of Tim’s face out of his head. The Tim from right after what must have been a deeply traumatic event that would have shaken anyone, yet all he had to show for it were steady tears and bloodshot eyes set in an indifferent face.  
  
It was unnerving just to think about it. About Tim’s ever-persistent composure, maintained regardless of how shattered his insides were. He had no say in any of it.  
  
Dick looked down at Tim—at his slow breaths and exhausted body. At the circles under his eyes and the way his fingernails had been chewed to oblivion. “Shit,” he said, defeated. He closed his eyes. “We suck.”  
  
Jason shot him his best _no, duh_ look.  
  
“How do we make it better?” Cass asked, voice soft. Her hand lay on Tim’s ankle, as if she could soak the love and support into him via osmosis.  
  
“We wait,” Dick said. It was impossible to know what he was feeling now. He was channeling his Dark Knight talent of masking all emotion, trying to be the grown-up in a room full of people just as lost as he was. “We wait for Bruce to come back. And when he does, we’ll get that thing out of Tim.”  
  
“And...after that?”  
  
“I have no idea.” 

* * *

_Two Days Later_

* * *

_Clench. Unclench._ _  
__  
__Clench. Unclench._ _  
__  
_Tim’s eyes stayed glued to his fingers as he opened and closed his fists, again and again and again. Focused on the sight of muscles and tendons yielding to his whim. After two days of being freed, Tim still expected his body to freeze up at any moment and put someone else in the driver’s seat.  
  
 _Ha ha, thought you could have autonomy again? Fuck you._  
  
He wondered if that fear would ever go away.  
  
Tim was sitting on the window seat with his arms wrapped around his knees, overlooking Gotham’s dark horizon from his bedroom. The one at the manor, that was. Not his apartment. He still wasn’t overly comfortable with the idea of being alone again so soon after...after.  
  
It was strange, being in control of his own body again. What a sick burden. Part of him wanted to cry with relief every time he moved of his own accord; unassisted by a mad man’s programming and a little nudge from the closest person with a task to be completed. The other part didn’t know how to react at all.  
  
When Cass had prodded him awake two nights ago with the news that Bruce was back and armed with a solution, Tim hadn’t been able to show his true reaction. All he could do was nod and endure her tight grip on his arm as she brought him to the cave where everything was already set up.  
  
 _A remote,_ Bruce had said. _His plan was to inject mind-control chips into whoever he could get his hands on, and with the push of a button he would have an army at his disposal to carry out his bidding_  
  
So Tim was just the unfortunate guinea pig in this plan. A convenient happenstance that Hatter was too eager to pass up. They were just lucky that his plans had gotten derailed when Batman caught him and he was dragged all the way back to Arkham’s iron gates like a runaway pet.  
  
Had Tim not been captured and rescued, who knew what kind of epidemic Gotham would have had on her hands. _We were lucky,_ Bruce said.  
  
Lucky. They were _lucky_ that Tim had been sentenced to an indescribable hell.  
  
Once they had the remote which controlled the device in Tim’s neck, it wasn’t difficult to disable it. Sure it took some fiddling, a bit of trial and error. Not to mention the constant fear that any mistake could have quite possibly blown Tim’s head off in an instant.  
  
But in no time Bruce had it figured out, and with the press of a button, _voila._ Tim’s strings were cut.  
  
It felt sort of like pins and needles. One minute everything was not-quite-but-also-very numb, and in the next, autonomy leaked back into his muscles. The walls separating thought from action fell into splinters. A shiver wracked Tim’s body at the sensation and he took his first real deep breath in five weeks, finally released...  
  
“Tim?” Jason asked. “You good? Did it work?”  
  
...and immediately broke down.  
  
Tim choked on his next inhale and let it out with a cracking sob, the simultaneous relief and anguish crashing down at him all at once. It was so thick and potent, he could hardly breathe under it all.  
  
It wasn't long before his already-shaky legs gave out, and he would have collapsed to the floor had Bruce not caught him. Tim’s chest rattled and shook as he cried; deep, unbearable sobs that unleashed the swirling emotions he hadn’t been able to reach for so long it had felt like they were suffocating him from the inside.  
  
“Oh, Tim…” Dick murmured, kneeling beside the two and taking Tim’s hand. Tim just cried.  
  
No one said anything else as they witnessed the breaking down of walls upon walls, and Tim didn’t know whether he was grateful for that or not. Bruce held him and let him soak his shoulder with tears. Let Tim cry out every ounce of pain he’d been forced to hold back all those weeks.  
  
Tim didn’t know how long he’d spent like that: heaving sobs into Bruce’s chest while he stroked Tim’s hair, murmuring comforts that Tim couldn’t hear. Even now, Tim didn’t have it in him to feel embarrassed. He was just glad he could feel anything at all.  
  
Tim grazed his thumb over the bandage on his neck. The cut underneath wasn’t large at all; barely the size of his pinky nail, and the chip itself had been even smaller. It was hard to believe that something so unassuming could have caused Tim so much torment.  
  
Tim dug his nails into his arm, watching the skin redden as crescent-shaped marks were left behind. It stung, but it helped ground him. Regaining control after so long was disorienting, like stepping out of a VR game and having to adjust to reality all over again.  
  
“You shouldn’t do that, you know.”  
  
Tim all but jumped out of his skin, whipping his head around to face the doorway. Jason stood there just in the threshold, eyes pointedly on Tim’s forearm where bruises littered the pale skin.  
  
Tim took a moment to calm his racing heartbeat. “What do you need?” he asked, ignoring the comment.  
  
Jason shrugged. “Me? Nothing. Just checking up on you.”  
  
Now _there_ was something new. Bruce, Dick, and Alfred had been hovering 24/7—probably afraid that Tim would have another breakdown if left alone for longer than an hour. Jason, though? Tim hadn’t seen much of him since he’d been released from Hatter’s device from hell.  
  
“I’d have been happy with a card.”  
  
Jason snorted. “Next time I find one that says, _Sorry your brain got hijacked,_ I’ll mail it to you.”  
  
Tim couldn’t help but flinch at the candid way Jason spoke. He swallowed hard and turned his attention back to the darkness outside, solely so Jason couldn’t see his reaction.  
  
He saw it in the window’s reflection when Jason took a step into the room, and then another. Slowly. As though Tim were a runaway animal and Jason was trying not to spook him into taking off again. “So...you doing okay?”  
  
Tim could have laughed. “Is that a rhetorical question?”  
  
Jason pursed his lips. “Alright, you got me there.” He came closer, the smell of gunpowder and smoke carrying through the air as he did. “If it helps, I got the oldies off of your back for the rest of the night.”  
  
“Hallelujah.”  
  
“Can’t promise they won’t be back to bother you first thing in the morning, though. I’m pretty sure if they stopped helicopter-parenting, their hearts would stop instantly.”  
  
“Why are you here, Jason?” Tim didn’t care if he was being blunt.  
  
Jason stopped. He hesitated for a moment before lifting his chin. “I...wanted to apologize.”  
  
“For?”  
  
“You know what I’m talking about.”  
  
Pressure built behind Tim’s eyes at the memory alone, and he rested his temple against the glass, closing them. “It’s fine. You didn’t do anything.”  
  
“Yes, I did. I was a huge dick. Even worse than Grayson, which says a lot considering his title.”  
  
“You didn’t know.”  
  
Jason exhaled deeply. “But I did.”  
  
Tim opened his eyes and looked at him.  
  
“I knew there was something wrong, and I let my own pig-headedness get in the way. Convinced myself that you were just plotting to mess with me or something. I didn’t try to help, and as a result you almost died. Because of me.”  
  
“You would have helped if you’d known the truth.”  
  
“You have too much faith in me.” When Tim didn’t deny it, Jason chuckled. He came closer and nudged Tim’s bare foot with the toe of his boot. “Scoot over,” he said.  
  
The corner of Tim's mouth lifted in a small, faint smirk. “No.”  
  
Jason matched it. “Fair enough.” So he sat down right where he was, on the floor with his legs crossed and his back against one of Tim’s bookshelves. “Real talk, though. How are you holding up?”  
  
A shrug. “Okay.”  
  
Jason waited, but Tim didn’t elaborate. “Okay? That’s it?”  
  
“I mean, considering I’ve been a mind-controlled zombie for the past month, I think ‘okay’ is a big improvement compared to wishing I was dead every day.” Jason’s expression turned sympathetic, and Tim immediately regretted saying anything. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be a downer.”  
  
“No, I get it. You’ve been through hell. Do you think you’re gonna be ready to go back in the field soon?”  
  
Tim didn’t have the energy to scoff. “I think the real question is will _Bruce_ be ready to let me back in the field.”  
  
“Well, duh, of course he will.” A pause. “Once you’re recovered, I mean.”  
  
Tim just stayed quiet, and Jason frowned. “Unless he said something to you? But as far as I know, he’s gonna be happy to have you back working the cases he’d never admit he’s not smart enough to solve on his own.”  
  
“Sure he will.”  
  
Tim could see the cogs working in Jason’s head, analyzing his less-than-enthused demeanor. After a minute he gave up. “Okay, you lost me.”  
  
Tim spoke past the lump that had grown in his throat. “Sooner or later he’ll realize that I was better the way I was a week ago than I am now, and he’s going to regret disabling it.”  
  
Jason waved a hand. "Come on, he’s not going to think that.”  
  
“Why not? The whole reason we got into this situation to begin with was because I couldn’t follow orders. It’s my own fault I was—” He stopped himself, eyes already prickling.  
  
“Dude. I don’t know how to tell you this, but that’s what being a Robin _is._ It’s ignoring all of the shit Batman says and doing your own thing. You want to follow orders, go be Aquaman’s sidekick.”  
  
Tim rested his chin on his knees. “He told me to keep it up.”  
  
Jason hesitated. “Who?”  
  
“Bruce. When I was...you know. He told me he was proud of me. He said he was glad for the change in behavior, and he told me to keep it up.” Tim peeled his attention from the window to Jason, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. “He wanted me to stay that way.”  
  
“I’m sure he didn’t—”  
  
“Didn’t what? Didn’t mean it?” In contrast to his harsh words, Tim’s voice was dull as stone. “Trust me. He meant it. If he’d known the truth he wouldn’t have admitted it, but that’s the point. If no one had found out, you would have been fine with it. All of you.”  
  
“That doesn’t mean we don’t care about you.”  
  
“What does it mean, then? Because from where I’m sitting, it seems an awful lot like if I had just kept my mouth shut, you and the others wouldn’t all be blaming yourselves and walking on eggshells around me. Everyone would have been happier.”  
  
“You wouldn’t.”  
  
Tim just shrugged, a tear falling from his eye.  
  
Jason sighed. “Jesus Christ, okay.” He stood up and came over to the window seat. He shoved Tim upright and plopped down in front of him, laying his hands on Tim’s shoulders. “Kid, look at me.”  
  
He waited for Tim to meet his eyes. “Are you an insufferable smartass? Yes. Can you be annoying sometimes? Absolutely. Have I tried to kill you on several occasions? You bet I have, and I don’t regret it.”  
  
Then his expression turned firm—solid and unyielding. “But, like it or not, I care about you. And so do the rest of us, _Bruce_ most of all. We don’t want some creepy remote-controlled version of you just because you were easy to boss around. We were idiots, and we took you for granted, and that’s on us. We didn’t realize how lucky we were to have the real Tim Drake, and we are _not_ going to make that same mistake again. Got it?”  
  
Tim stayed silent, so Jason narrowed his eyes. _“Got it?”_  
  
Finally, Tim inhaled deeply and gave a small nod. “Got it.” He wiped his eyes with his sleeve.  
  
“Good.” Jason sat back and slung an arm over Tim’s shoulders. “Besides. If we really hated the real you that much, we’d have changed the locks years ago.” He poked Tim in the side. “Don’t laugh, I’m serious. The way you kept stalking us with a camera every night? Creepy as hell. You’re lucky we took pity on you instead of getting a restraining order.”  
  
Tim sniffled, but oddly enough, he felt lighter than he had in awhile. “Thanks, Jason.”  
  
Jason rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t go around telling anyone this happened, alright? Can’t let anyone know the Red Hood has feelings. I’ve got a reputation to uphold, you know.”  
  
Tim laughed, then—a real, genuine laugh—and that was when he knew, deep down, that he was going to be okay. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But eventually.  
  
Tim would be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! For every comment, I will feed my dog one (1) goblin. 
> 
> [Feel free to mosey on down to my Tumblr!](http://sohotthateveryonedied.tumblr.com/)


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